God, I missed him. That’s why I was freaking out.
The elevator dinged and I ran to the room and locked the door behind me. Monroe was already on the bed.
“What the hell, Trace? You got murderers on your tail?”
I shook my head and gasped for breath. “I don’t know. I just… Nixon told me to run, so I ran. And he got into a fight with Phoenix and Tim and—”
“It’s fine,” Monroe said quickly. “You saw the fight?”
I nodded.
“Then you know Nixon can take care of himself, right?”
I nodded again.
“Great, now let’s watch a movie.”
“What!” I yelled. “I can’t just watch a movie while your brother could be getting murdered!”
Monroe burst out laughing. “Believe me when I say nobody would be stupid enough to murder my brother.”
“Are you insane? I—” My phone started ringing. Well, at least it was working. I’d had my doubts after the sugar water incident. I looked at the caller ID. Oh, good. “Hi, Grandpa!” I practically shouted into the phone.
He chuckled on the other end. “Sweet pea, how was your first week of school?”
“Oh… you know. Um, boring,” I lied.
“They treating you nice up there at that fancy school?”
Immediately, I relaxed. I missed him so much. I was so freaked out, but if I told him what had happened he’d probably come up here with his shot gun and sit outside my dorm room. He and Nixon had that in common. “Yup, everyone’s super nice.”
“Oh, honey, I knew it. I’m so glad.”
It was silent for a while and then he added. “Trace? Did you open your grandma’s box?”
I sighed happily. “Yes, sir! I haven’t looked at everything, but I wore the necklace today!”
“Aw, that does my heart proud! She loved that necklace, Trace.”
I was itching to ask him more about it, but my caller ID lit up. “Hey, Gramps, can I call you back?”
“Oh no, don’t worry about me, Trace. I gotta go do the night feeding for the cows. You stay out of trouble, okay?”
“Okay! I love you!”
“Trace, I love you more. Goodnight, sweet pea.”
“Night!”
I switched lines. “Hello?”
All I could hear was creepy breathing on the end. Awesome. And my night was complete. I quickly pressed end and threw my phone against the bed.
“You okay?” Monroe asked. “How’s the grandpa? Hmm, why don’t we watch The Proposal or something?”
“No.” I waved my hand in the air. “To all of that.” With a grunt I plopped onto my bed and groaned.
“Hey.” The bed dipped as Monroe came and sat next to me. “It’s fine, I promise. Nixon is… Nixon is. Well, that’s the thing. He’s Nixon. I’m sure he had a good reason for sending you in here and freaking the crap out of you, but let’s not forget how protective brother bear is.”
“Right.” I shivered, not because of fear, but because I hardly think Nixon and I had a brother bear relationship. And if that’s how he would categorize it, then I had a hell of a lot more problems than men in suits and creepy phone calls.
A knock sounded at the door. I flung off the bed. Almost tripping over the blankets, I reached for the door and opened it.
Nixon was leaning against the frame and looking at his cell phone. Without thinking, I pulled him into my arms and hugged him. There go all the rules about no touching or breathing the same air. But I was so freaked out and…
Holy crap, he was like a warm statue and then his arms very slowly wrapped around me.
I was pretty sure, in that moment, that Nixon’s arms were my favorite place to be in the world. Bliss didn’t last all too long. The second I realized he had no bumps or bruises and was texting, yes texting, before I hugged him.
With a shriek I pulled back and smacked him on the chest. “You scared the crap out of me.”
He grinned. “You sure do run fast, Farm Girl. They teach you that in Wyoming?” With a slow wink he walked around me and gave his sister a brief hug.
“Something’s very wrong with you.” I slammed the door and crossed my arms.
“Don’t I know it,” Monroe muttered. “And what the hell, Nixon? You can’t just go scaring my roommate like that. I thought she was going to have a heart attack and tell her grandpa she was witness to your murder.”
“Believe me, her grandpa would not have come to my rescue.” Nixon snorted.
“Hey!” I pointed. “You don’t even know him! He’s a good guy.”
“Did I say he was bad?” Nixon held up his hands in offense. “I just said he wouldn’t come to my rescue.”
“If I asked him to he would,” I argued.
Nixon laughed. “Your innocence is both aggravating and shocking.”
Clenching my fists, I fought the urge to stomp my foot and glared at Monroe. He was her brother. I refused to keep dealing with his mood swings.
“We should watch a movie,” Nixon said after I sat on the bed like a normal human instead of stomping around the room like Godzilla.
“She doesn’t want to,” Monroe said pointing in my direction. Yes, because I’m the one who is not being reasonable right now.
“Who were those guys?” I asked.
Nixon ignored me. “She saw me beat the crap out of two dudes tonight. She should watch something funny.”
Monroe nodded. “A chick flick and maybe some chocolate?”
“Hello!” I waved my hands in the air. “I’m right here.”
Nixon waved back. Bastard. Monroe had yet to look up from the movie selection.
“Nixon.” I hissed his name. “Who were those guys and why did I have to run?”
“Guys from work.” Nixon shrugged. “They just had a few questions about what went down tonight. I just didn’t want you to stay if things got weird and the less people that they know who know about what happened, the better.”
Damn. That did sound convincing. But work? What college student had grown men working for him? It again begged the question, just how old was he? And what type of business… ugh. My brain hurt. “Fine, we’ll watch the stupid movie,” I grumbled.
“Excellent.” Monroe threw the movie at Nixon, who in turn popped it into the computer. He sighed and laid his head on my pillow.
Angry, I jerked the pillow from underneath him and beat him on the head with it.
“What the hell was that for?”
“It slipped.” I shrugged innocently.
“Slipped my ass…”
“Children!” Monroe sang. “Behave or I’m not going to give you snacks.”
“She started it—”
“Nixon Anthony—”
I pinched him and laughed. “She totally middle-named you just now.”
“Trace…” There was a warning edge to her voice, so I shut up and sat as far away from Nixon’s body heat as I could. But it was near impossible, especially when Chase and Tex showed up halfway through the movie. According to Chase, his back hurt when he didn’t have a bed to sit on. Screwy logic, so I let him sit toward the bottom with his back against the wall. My feet would have been touching him, but I sat up. The minute I sat up, Nixon sat up. The minute he sat up, I dipped toward him.
And that was how I ended up falling asleep with my face on his shoulder. At least that’s what I told myself when I woke up at three A.M. to Nixon staring at me like a monster in a horror movie.
“Are you trying to give me nightmares?” I whispered grumpily.
“No.” His voice was hoarse. His arm shot out, and before I could stop him, he had somehow flipped me around so he was spooning me. His hand ran up and down my arm, tracing circles and massaging every inch of exposed skin.
I snuggled back into him further, trying to get comfortable.
He groaned low in his throat. “So not helping, Trace.”
“Oh.”
He brushed my hair aside and kissed my neck as his right hand dipped beneath my shirt. Tiny electrical shocks hummed through my body as his warm hand rested on my bare stomach.
“Nixon—”
“Please,” he whispered in my ear. “I just want to touch you.”
I fell asleep to Nixon, Student Body President, all-around bad boy extraordinaire’s hand burning against my skin.
It was the best night I’d ever had.
Chapter Sixteen
“You drool,” Nixon announced the minute I saw him for first period Monday morning. After everything that went down Friday night, I desperately needed some calm time. Monroe and I stayed in bed all day Saturday and watched movies.
She had family dinner Sunday, so I worked on what homework I did have, and then plunged into a vampire novel in order to lose the drama from my life.
It must have worked because like a total loser I fell asleep at seven at night and didn’t wake up until my alarm Monday morning.
Nixon hadn’t spoken to me since the night I fell asleep in his arms. I was beginning to think I was the one going crazy and nothing happened.
Tempted to flip him off. I merely mumbled thanks under my breath as I walked by his desk and sat down. One more week with him as our stand-in teacher, and then I would be home free!
“Movie day.” Nixon addressed the class, took roll, and then flipped off the lights as a documentary of early America began to play in black and white. Great.
“Hey,” he breathed in my ear.
“Crap!” My desk moved as I jumped away. I turned around and glared. “Are you trying to kill me?” I whispered.
Nixon smirked. “Not at all. Remember? I’m the one who keeps you safe. I’m the one that would die for you and all that? Why, want me to prove my loyalty?” His teasing smile made me want to smack him with my history book, or maybe my lit book. That one was heavier.
“I’m trying to watch the movie.” Oh gosh, nothing about that statement sounded remotely true. My voice even wavered into high-pitched liar pants territory.
“No, you’re not.” He sighed and leaned back. Every other kid was paying attention to the movie. Why was I the lucky one getting haunted by the gangster of Christmas present?
“Yes. I am.” Flipping my hair, I turned back around and focused on the movie about America. Ah Indians, focus on the Cherokees, Trace.
A loud yawn interrupted me, followed by two arms that stretched so far beyond the desk behind me that they practically pulled me back with them.
Letting out a heavy sigh I looked heavenward and shook my head. Ten minutes later Nixon had somehow maneuvered his hands underneath my mop of hair, and was in the process of massaging my neck.
In class being massaged by the substitute teacher. So not how I planned my second week of school going.
But dang, if my neck wasn’t sore. I leaned heavily against his hand as he pushed against the tight muscles, and then I felt his other hand move beneath my shirt. No, no he wasn’t. No. No.
One strategic sinful hand massaged while the other one dove beneath my shirt. If he was going to cop a feel, his balls would be on the opposite end of my pencil.